


Into The Fire

by jonnyluvssherlock



Series: Cock Slut John [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gaslighting, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Stockholm Syndrome, based off the trailer for Room, toplock, trained to be a sex slave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnyluvssherlock/pseuds/jonnyluvssherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John just escaped from being imprisoned by Moriarty but luck is not on his side when he is found by Sherlock who will use his ignorance of the world against him.  Sherlock will make John into the perfect pet to suit his sexual needs while also using John as bait to lure Moriarty into his trap.  Is there a happy future for John or is this as good as it gets?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a non-con fic. tags will update as the fic is written. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD ADD ANY TAGS!!!
> 
> i was inspired to write this fic after seeing the trailer for the film 'Room'. i wanted to explore the idea of someone escaping a dangerous situation and instead of actually being helped they get used by someone new.
> 
> because there has been some confusion i will let people know. THIS IS NOT A HURT COMFORT FIC!! this fic is not about sherlock saving john and making things better. this is about him making things worse!!! the title of the fic comes from the saying 'out of the frying pan into the fire' which means to go from a bad situation to a horrible one! i hope this clears things up.

John waited beside the stairs, the chair leg clutched in his hands. As the man stepped inside the room, he got into position. The man looked around in confusion and made his way down the stairs. When the man stepped in front of John, he lunged forward and hit him on the head as hard as he could. The man crumpled. John dropped the chair leg, searched the man’s pockets, and took his keys. He rushed up the stairs and unlocked the door in the ceiling, pushing it open. Sunlight hit his eyes and he groaned, covering them with his arm. The moan echoed behind him and he looked back to see the man trying to get up. John’s heart pounded as he took the keys from the inside of the door, rushed out into the fresh air, and slammed the door shut, locking it. He stood watching the door for a few minutes. He heard a fist slam into it and muffled yelling. Afraid someone would hear, he took off into the woods. 

 

John’s legs protested as he ran. He had not been this active in years. Branches scraped his face and arms. His bare feet ached as he ran over stones and uneven terrain. He did not know where he was going; he just knew he had to get away.

 

\-----

 

Sherlock paused and listened. He could hear something crashing through the woods in front if him. He braced himself, hands raised to fight. A few feet ahead of him, a short man in his mid-twenties broke through a thick patch of trees. He wore a light grey t-shift and matching sweat pants. His hair was blond, cut close to his head. His feet were bare and his blue eyes were wild with fear. There were scratches and cuts on his exposed skin and he looked malnourished. The man looked at Sherlock, froze, and then started to head off in another direction. Sherlock could see the man was not a danger to him, so he lowered his hands and called out to him.

 

“Wait.”

 

The man froze as if commanded. His face was turned away so Sherlock could not see his expression, but he saw that his body was taut as if he would run at any moment.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Slowly, the man turned to look at him, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. 

 

“My name is Sherlock. Let me help you.” Sherlock gave as empathetic an expression as he could muster.

 

“Help me?” The man said softly.

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

The man nodded back and stepped towards him. “Please.” Tears poured out of his eyes and streamed down his face.

 

Sherlock motioned him forward and took him into his arms. There was a good chance this man had seen Moriarty’s hiding place and was running in fear from him. If he could get him talking, he might be able to get the information he needed. The man buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder and wept. Sherlock cooed at him until he regained his composer. 

 

He kept an arm around the man’s shoulder as he led him back to the main road. It was easy enough from there to hail a cab back to his flat. Once he had himself and the man settled in the back seat, he turned to the man, looking him up and down for clues.

 

“What’s you name?” He asked, taking in the man’s pale skin and thin frame.

 

“John.” He whispered. “My name is John.”

 

Sherlock gave him a sympathetic smile. “John.”

 

\-----

 

As the cab pulled up to Baker Street, John started looking around as if looking for an exit. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s ok.”

 

John’s eyes met his. He was frightened, but trying to control himself.

 

Sherlock pointed up to the windows of his flat. “That’s my place. The landlady lives on the first floor.” He pointed to Mrs. Hudson’s front window.

 

“Above ground?” John asked.

 

Sherlock nodded and paid the cabbie. “Above ground.”

 

This seemed to calm John. Sherlock guessed he had been kept underground. They exited the cab together and stepped into the house. Sherlock led him up the stairs to his flat and sat him in the oversized red armchair by the fireplace. He saw John give the room a quick onceover, then his eyes landed on the window closest to him and stayed there. 

 

Sherlock left him to look while he made tea and put a few biscuits on a tray. He sweetened the tea for John’s shock and then placed the tray on the table next to him.

 

John looked at it, then up at Sherlock.

 

“Help yourself.”

 

John shoved two biscuits into his mouth at once and chewed them noisily. Then he washed them down with tea and shoved in another biscuit. 

 

Sherlock sat and watched him eat. When the biscuits were gone, and every crumb picked up and eaten, John smiled at him.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Hungry?”

 

John nodded. “They fed me enough to keep me alive, but that was it.”

 

Sherlock leaned forward and gave John a soft smile. “I was hoping you could tell me about what happened to you.”

 

John’s eyes fell to the floor.

 

“I want to protect you, John, but, to do so, I will need your help.”

 

John looked up shyly and nodded.

 

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and smiled. He had him. 

 

“Do you know where you were being kept?”

 

John nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. “I don’t know exactly where, but I know what it looked like.”

 

“Tell me that.”

 

“I was in a room under the ground. There were no windows. Just a door that was always locked and a small elevator that sent me food and supplies.”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

“Where was this room?”

 

“In the woods next to a red house with blue trim.”

 

“How long were you there?”

 

“What year is it?” John asked, his hands gripping the fabric of his trousers.

 

Sherlock was surprised by the question. He had believed John could not have been missing for more than a year, but John made it sound like it could be much longer. “Two thousand fifteen.”

 

John looked troubled. He counted silently on his fingers for a minute. His eyes widened and his pale skin turned deathly white. “Eighteen year.”

 

Sherlock held back a gasp. “How old are you?”

 

John took a moment to count on his fingers again. “I’m twenty six.”

 

Sherlock did the math. “You would have been eight when you were taken.”

 

John nodded. “It was hard to keep track of time down there. It was 1997 when I was taken.”

 

Sherlock took a moment to get his mind in order. John had been alone in a hole most of his life. The fact that he could even hold a conversation was a testament to his adaptability. Sherlock got up and kneeled in front of John, taking his hands in his. “Who did this to you John?”

 

John’s expression was grave as he turned his eyes on Sherlock. “The spider.”

 

\-----

 

Over the next hour, Sherlock got John to tell him all about the spider and his life in what John called ‘the room’. When he had first been taken, there had been a little girl with him, called Mary. She had died a few years later and no one else had joined him. Three times a day a small elevator in the room lowered with food and supplies, like clothing or workbooks. Every five days the door opened and a blond man would come in to check the room and John over. This man was the tiger. John called him this because of the tiger tattoo on his arm. He feared the tiger but not as much as he feared the spider.

 

He had only seen the spider on video. He was often sent videos he was forced to watch that contained lessons. Randomly, there would be one of the spider, telling him all the horrible things that would happen to him if he tried to leave. In the videos, the man called himself the spider, so that is what John called him.

 

Sherlock recalled a half-forgotten conversation with his brother where Mycroft had referred to Moriarty as ‘a spider in a web’.

 

John talked until he was exhausted. Sherlock ordered them take out and sent a full John off to sleep in his bed. When he was sure John was asleep, he left and headed back to the woods. He was able to follow John’s path easily. He had left plenty of damage in his wake. He followed it back to a clearing where a red house with blue trim sat. Sherlock smiled. 

 

He walked around the house until he found a large metal door in the ground. He reached into his pocket for the keys he had taken from John and opened the door. He had half-expected the tiger to still be in there, but as he looked down into the room, he saw it was empty expect a small bloodstain at the bottom of the stairs. 

 

He took a chance and walked down the stairs into the room. It was a simple box-like space with grey walls and no windows. There was a double bed in one corner with a wardrobe next to it. He opened it and found five light grey t-shirts hanging next to five light grey sweatshirts. Lying on a shelf near the bottom were five pairs of light grey sweat pants, six pairs of light grey socks and five pairs of white y front briefs.

 

Sherlock looked around the room and saw a table with a chair broken on its side with a TV sitting in front of it. There were piles of VHSs on one side. They mostly had the names of lessons, but others were blank. He took two of the blank ones and put them in his pocket. Under the stairs, he found shelves full of school supplies. Near the top were two stacks of workbooks. One stack of the books were blank or partially done and the other pile were completely filled out. He found John’s ‘small elevator’ and discovered it was a dumb waiter. There was no way to control it from John’s end.

 

The setup smelled of experiment. He gave the room another onceover and found four cameras. He had the sick impression that Moriarty had locked John up just to see what happened.

 

He left the sad grey room and moved onto the house. He found the backdoor unlocked and hesitantly stepped inside. It was plainly furnished and it was obvious that whoever had been living there had left in a hurry. They must have thought the police were on their way when they were not able to retrieve John. Sherlock looked the house over and left. 

 

On his way home, he stopped and picked up some new clothing for John. He wondered how long it had been since John had worn anything but sweatpants as he picked up a pair of fitted jean. That would not matter soon. He picked out several outfits, imagining how they would look on John. He knew John would be susceptible to suggestion, and, if he worked quickly, he would have John wrapped around his finger and completely dependent on him.

 

\-----

 

Sherlock returned to find John awake, standing by the window, looking frightened. As Sherlock entered the flat, John threw himself at him, tears brimming in his eyes.

 

“I thought you had abandoned me!” John wailed.

 

Sherlock dropped his shopping and took John into his arms. “I would never.” He let John hold him for a few minutes, and then peeled him off. “I went to get food and clothing.” He used the pad of his thumbs to dry John’s tears. “Let’s get you cleaned up and into some new clothes.”

 

John nodded and let himself be led by Sherlock.

 

Sherlock helped John bathe before cleaning his wounds and putting bandages were they were needed. He took his clothing from him and gave him the clothes he had picked out. Bright red y fronts, fitted jeans, and a dark blue t-shirt. He had grabbed him a warm woolen jumper as well, just in case the habit of layering was hard to end. John looked at himself in the mirror and smiled.

 

Sherlock stepped behind him and placed his hand on John’s hips. “You look good.”

 

John’s eyes met his in the mirror. “I don’t know how to thank you?”

 

Sherlock smiled. “Don’t worry about that.”

 

After John had fallen asleep again, Sherlock got out his laptop and goggled him. He found a multitude of articles from when he had gone missing, talking about John’s family, blaming the government, discussing the ongoing search. They lessened after a year until the story was forgotten. He found two at the ten-year anniversary. One was a rundown of the case, and the second was a human-interest piece about John’s family. John’s mother had passed away, leaving his alcoholic father to raise his older sister. His sister, Harriet, was quoted saying her mother had died believing John was still alive while she and her father had accepted John as dead. 

 

Sherlock smiled. There was no one looking for John, which meant no one to interfere.

 

The next morning, when John woke, Sherlock was waiting for him with breakfast. He smiled and gestured to the table and John sat smiling at him.

 

“Did you sleep well?” Sherlock asked, pushing a plate of toast in John’s direction.

 

John nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept that well.”

 

“I was thinking last night and I realized there was so much in the world you don’t know; it made me want to help you.”

 

“You’ve helped me so much already.”

 

“Yes, but I can do more. You don’t know this, but, most of the time, someone like you has someone to take care of them, someone who protects and provides for them.”

 

John said nothing, but he stopped eating and gave Sherlock his full attention.

 

“I could be that person for you.” ‘With you here, Moriarty will come looking, and I’ll be able to catch him’, Sherlock thought.

 

“Could you?” John asked.

 

Sherlock nodded. “The thing you need to know is that if we make this agreement, then you belong to me. If I ask you to do something, then you have to do it.” Sherlock gave him a sad expression to play with his emotions. “Am I really worthy of being your protector?”

 

John reached across the table and took his hand. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

 

Sherlock smiled and squeezed his hand. “Then we have an agreement?”

 

John nodded.

 

Sherlock pulled a piece of paper out from under a book next to himself. He placed it in front of John, then handed him a pen. “Just sign this, and you’ll never have to live a day without me.”

 

John took the pen and signed his name before handing the paper back to Sherlock. He did not even glace at it. If he had, he would have seen he had just given Sherlock the right to do what ever he wanted with him, as long as he provided room and board. 

 

Sherlock smiled. “Perfect.”

 

\-----

 

While John ate, Sherlock retrieved a box from under his bed. He had bought the items in it on a whim when he had been in a sex toyshop interviewing a witness a year before. He had not known if he would ever have a chance to use any of the items, but now that he did, he was glad he had taken the time to purchase them. He found John washing dishes in the kitchen, and smiled. John seemed to already know his place.

 

“John.”

 

The man turned from his work and looked at Sherlock.

 

“I need you to do something for me.”

 

John shut off the sink and dried his hands. “Yes?”

 

“Lower you pants and trousers to you knees and bend over the table with your arse facing me.”

 

“Why?”

 

Sherlock gave a forced smile. “Because I asked you to.”

 

John nodded and did as asked.

 

Sherlock pulled out one of the chairs and set the box on it. He pulled out a plastic glove, lube, and an anal plug. He put the glove on and squeezed some lube onto his fingers. Without warning John, he pressed one of them to John’s entrance.

 

“What are you doing?” John shrieked, trying to pull away.

 

Sherlock placed his other hand on the small of John’s back and pressed him into the table. “Relax, this is normal.”

 

John’s body relaxed, but his hands balled into fists.

 

Sherlock pressed the finger inside.

 

John gasped, but did not fight him. 

 

Sherlock heard sniffling and sighed while continuing to thrust in and out of John.

 

“This isn’t a punishment.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“This is how I make you mine. To keep you, I have to place my seed in you daily or you can be taken from me.”

 

John fully relaxed, buying the lie. Sherlock shoved a second finger in.

 

“I have to open you. I can’t make you fully mine till I’m inside you here.” He smoothed his other hand over John’s arse. “I’m going to train you to take me so it doesn’t hurt. Today, I’ll stretch you and insert a plug that will keep you open. For the next week, the plugs will get larger till you can fit me inside you.”

 

“But if it takes a week to train me, how will you keep me?”

 

Sherlock held back a chuckle. It was so easy to fool the man. “Today, you’ll use your mouth. It’s not a permanent fix, but it will do for now.” He pressed a third finger in. “You have to remember that you can’t have sex with anyone but me. If you do, I lose you.”

 

John nodded.

 

When Sherlock had him open enough, he lubed up the plug and pushed it inside, then instructed John to dress himself.

 

“I’ll be training you to open yourself so you’ll be ready for your treatment.”

 

John smiled and nodded. “Should I have my treatment now?”

 

Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder. “On you knees.”

 

John did as he was asked. Sherlock opened his trousers and held out his semi-hard cock.

 

“Have you ever had an ice lolly?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You lick and suck it like that.” He gripped the back of John’s head. “Whatever you do, don’t bite.”

 

John took him in his mouth and sucked. It was not the best blowjob Sherlock had ever had, but it was not the worst. John was enthusiastic, and, with time, would be very good at it. Sherlock looked down at him doing his best to please him and smirked. He had John at his biding, and the man was convinced that he was the one doing Sherlock a favor. He loved idiocy sometimes.

 

As Sherlock felt his orgasm build, he gripped the back of John’s head and shoved his cock as far down John’s throat as he could. John gagged and started to pull back. “I have to make sure you swallow it all.” Sherlock said, faking sympathy.

 

John stopped struggling and let Sherlock use him.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next week, Sherlock taught John how to suck him properly and trained his body to take larger plugs. John never said anything against what was happening to him, but the way he leaned away as Sherlock started to open him or how he grimaced after Sherlock had cum in his mouth told Sherlock he was not overly found of what was being done to him. Once in a while, Sherlock would push him just to see if he would speak out, but John simply said thank you when it was over. 

 

Sherlock spent the majority of his free time tracking Moriarty and the man called ‘the tiger’ that he believed was really Sebastian Moran. John spent his days reading and watching TV. Over time, Sherlock gathered that he had about a Secondary School level education. He did well staying out of Sherlock’s way when he wasn’t wanted, kept the flat clean, and serviced Sherlock with a smile.

 

The day Sherlock was easily able to fit a full sized dildo into John, he decided he would take him. He smiled and patted John’s arse when the toy was in.

 

“You’re done with your training, tonight I’ll make you mine.”

 

John straitened up, pulling his clothing up to cover himself. “Then I’ll be safe?”

 

Sherlock cupped John’s cheek and looked into his eyes, giving him a soft smile. “Then you’ll be safe.”

 

John let out a sigh of relief. “Do you want me to suck you off now?”

 

Sherlock shook his head and stepped towards the bedroom to put the lube away. “No, you can do that later. I have to step out.” 

 

He hailed a cab out front and made his way into town. He had an idea the night before as he looked down at John sucking his cock. He had decided that John would look good in a collar. Before going to bed, he had looked up a high-class fetish shop that seemed to have what he wanted.

 

He was delighted by the selection he found in the shop. He looked at the collars first and mulled over a diamond studded collar verses a plain black one. He had grabbed the plain one when he saw a navy blue one sitting at the back of the rack. He knew it would match John’s eye perfectly and took it. Then, with the help of the sales assistant, he found matching cuffs for John’s wrist and ankles. After he had picked the ones he wanted, she showed him an assortment of attachments. He bought a spread bar, chains that could attach to the cuffs to force John into multiple positions, chains that hooked onto the bedpost, a leash, and a heavy chain that he could hook to the wall. It attached to the collar and would keep John in the bed as long as he wanted.

 

When he returned home, he found John in the kitchen making tea. Without being asked, John pulled a second mug down and prepared his tea for him. Sherlock took the bag of toys into his room and put them under his bed, except for the collar. He wouldn’t need the restraints yet.

 

The day passed quickly, though Sherlock saw John look at the clock almost twice every hour. He fidgeted and seemed to find it hard to keep himself still and engaged in a task for very long. He would read for a while, then get distracted, check the time, put his book down, and move onto something else. But the next task couldn’t hold his interest and he would come back to the book. 

 

After dinner, Sherlock moved into the bedroom to get things ready. He placed a plastic glove and the lube on the bedside table. He considered a condom, but he’d gotten John’s blood results back and found he was clean. He pulled the duvet off the bed, placing it at the foot with the top sheet. Then, he placed a towel where he thought John’s hips would rest. Last, he filled a small bowl with water and placed a flannel next to it. He looked at the scene and knew he could have done worse. He could have forced John over the table and taken him with their trousers still on. He was attempting to make it feel ceremonial. The time for quick shags would be later, once he had John use to him.

 

Sherlock went back out into the living room and found John watching TV, though he seemed to be simply staring at the screen and not taking in what he was seeing. John looked up as he came in and gave him a nervous smile. Sherlock knew if he was a better man he would end the charade, make John’s hot cocoa while they waited for Lestrade, and send him back to him family. But he wasn’t a better man. He was going to fuck John and he was going to enjoy it. He would do it as often as he liked in what ever position he wanted. He would push John’s body and loyalty to the limit because he could, and, when the time came, he would use him as a pawn to lure Moriarty in. It wasn’t in his nature to love. He simply used people until they were no longer useful.

 

“It’s time, John. Take a shower and join me in the bedroom.”

 

As he waited for John to finish his shower, he considered whether he should strip or not. Would it seem odd if he was fully dressed and John was not? He quickly shed his clothing and slipped into his dressing gown. Then he pulled the moleskin notebook from his bedside table and wrote some notes about John’s training. He heard the bathroom door open, but didn’t turn. He finished his writing, tucked the notebook away, and looked over his shoulder where John stood naked, his skin still slightly damp from the shower.

 

He patted the bed and turned his body to John. “Lay down.”

 

John did as asked, putting his hips over the towel.

 

He’d never asked, so he figured now was the time. “Have you ever been with anyone?”

 

John shook his head.

 

Sherlock’s cock hardened. He would be the first to push into John’s heat, to claim him and make him his. “Roll over onto your belly.”

 

John pillowed his head on his arms and watched Sherlock as he disrobed. He sat by John’s hip and put the glove on. Then, he parted John’s arse cheeks and took hold of the base of the dildo. 

 

John moaned as pulled the toy free, his toes curling, his back arching. He pressed his face into the mattress and hid.

 

Sherlock pulled the glove off around the toy and set it on the floor. Then he took the lube and coated his cock. He got on the bed behind John and placed his hands on his hips.

 

“I need you to kneel.” Sherlock whispered.

 

John scrambled up into position, bracing himself on his arms.

 

Sherlock pulled his arse against his hips. Then pressed his cock to John’s entrance and pushed in. He kept a steady pressure and pushed in until he was fully seated. He felt John clamp down on him, his body tight. Then, slowly, John breathed and his body relaxed.

 

Sherlock pulled out a little and pushed in.

 

John moaned and scrambled at the sheets. “Yes.” He whispered.

 

Encouraged, Sherlock thrust in and out a few times quickening his speed with every thrust.

 

John squirmed under him and started to push back again him. Rolling his hips without being asked.

 

“Do you like that?” Sherlock asked

 

John nodded and pressed his forehead to the bed. “So much better than the toys.” He breathed.

 

Sherlock pushed harder, not holding back. Under him, John’s face was shoved into the mattress over and over as his body acted on its own, seeking its pleasure.

 

“I can’t hold myself up.” John whined.

 

Sherlock groaned and pulled out. Under him, John moaned in displeasure and reached back for him.

 

“On your back!” Sherlock snapped.

 

John clumsily fell onto his back and looked up at him. He spread John’s legs and hooked them over his waist before pressing in again.

 

John’s back arched off the bed and Sherlock felt his hard cock against his body for the first time.

 

“You’re such a slut, I bet you’ll come without me touching your cock.” Sherlock groaned as he pushed John firmly into the bed and pounded into him.

 

John nodded, his fingers scrambling for purchase in the pillows above his head.

 

“You’ll beg me to fuck you every day, won’t be able to last without being fucked!”

 

“Please,” John cried. “Please fuck me!”

 

“I’ll keep you open so I can have you whenever I want.”

 

John nodded and then his body tensed. His back lifted from the bed and he gave a hoarse shout. Sherlock felt a sticky wetness form between then and slowed down. He wanted to push John’s oversensitivity until he couldn’t think.

 

He fucked John slow and hard, holding off on his own orgasm as long as he could. When he finally came, John was babbling under him. His orgasm was quiet, his body shuddered, and he let his head drop to John’s shoulder. He lay panting afterwards and felt John’s fingers run through his hair.

 

He leaned over to the bedside table without pulling out and picked up the collar. 

 

John watched him through hazy eyes.

 

“So everyone knows you belong to me.”

 

John lifted his neck and let the collar be fastened. When he looked up and met Sherlock eyes, he knew he’d been right about the color. He pulled out and got off the bed in search of a new dildo to put into John. This one was bigger and the thought of John walking around with it inside him made Sherlock’s spent cock twitch in interest. When he turned back to the bed, John was back onto his hands and knees.

 

“Good boy, John.” Sherlock found a new glove, covered the dildo in lube, and pressed it into John. When he was done, he picked up his dressing gown and made for the door. “Clean this up before you go to bed.” He heard a mumbled response but didn’t stop. He needed a cigarette.


End file.
